Once Upon a Winter's Night: A Once Upon a Time Variation
by LA Knight
Summary: Can one moment change Fate? Can a single decision make you question everything? What if a child had never been in danger? What if a crime had never been committed? How would everything change? A variation of the Nuada fic Once Upon a Time that begs the question - what if Dylan's phone hadn't gone off at the exact wrong moment? Starts off near the end of Once Upon a Time ch 31.
1. It Started Out as a Feeling

_**WARNING:**__ This fic __**CANNOT**__ be read without reading the first 31 chapters of the_ Hellboy _fanfic_ Once Upon a Time _first. So no one complain to me about not knowing what's going on or whatever if you haven't done that._

_**Author's Note:**__ So here's the deal. I love my fanfic_, Once Upon a Time. _I love it. BUT. Where I'm at right now, I miss something—the expectation. The whole "will Dylan and Nuada get together" thing. Where we're at, we're more dealing with the whole "Will D&N_** stay **_together" thing instead._

_Which is great. That's fine. But I started reading these novels by this chick named Abigail Reynolds, variations on_ Pride and Prejudice, _and it really sparked my imagination. So did Alydia Rackham, who writes fanfiction for_ The Avengers. _She's got 3 different Lokane (Loki/Jane) fics that are basically "What if Loki fell off the Bifrost and was wounded and met Jane?"/"What if Loki fell off the Bifrost and was_** seriously **_wounded and met Jane?"/"What if Loki fell off the Bifrost and got captured by the Chitauri and then met Jane sometime later?" All three of which hinge on "What if something different happened when Loki fell off the Bifrost."_

_What's my point? I was wondering if there was a way to recapture the feelings of_ Once _during chapters 15-50, and I came up with the idea of doing a variation chap-fic. So that's what this is. It starts off in the middle of the faerie-metal-playground-in-the-snow scene in chapter 31, and it begs the question—what if Dylan's phone hadn't gone off when it did?_

_I hope you enjoy this_ Once Upon a Time _variation. OH! And the chapters will hopefully be shorter than the normal_ Once _chapters, for those of you who are gasping to death under the sheer volume of words in the original_ Once Upon a Time. _I also intend to do another variation chap-fic, this one much darker (at least at the beginning) than either this or the original_ Once Upon a Time, _about what would've happened if Dylan hadn't been told about Nuada's trial in chapter 10. Hope you enjoy that one, as well._

_Hugs and love to you all!_

_- LA Knight_

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**Once Upon a Winter's Night**

_**Chapter One  
It Started Out as a Feeling**_

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"What's the matter—worried you'll fall?" Dylan asked, grinning at the Elven prince who refused (for whatever reason) to walk across a simple child's balance beam.

Nuada opened his mouth to inform her that _no_, he most certainly was _not_ afraid of falling a mere six inches to the ground. Dylan ruthlessly cut him off with a wicked gleam in her eye and a wicked curve to her scarred mouth.

"I can go up with you if it'll make you feel better, Your Highness. No need to be scared."

The warrior prince scowled at the mortal who dared to challenge him. "Insolent chit." He stepped up onto the balance-bar and traversed it in a few quick steps. His boots clunked dully against the metal. He came back across the bar and stepped lightly onto the snow again. "Child's play."

Dylan actually clapped her hands in childlike delight, grinning even wider. "Bravo, Your Highness. You did it. Congratulations. And the universe did _not_ implode because you stepped off your dignity for thirty seconds. Amazing. My turn again. Backwards this time."

"Why?" He demanded, exasperated. "Why do you act like such a child sometimes?"

"Lots of random reasons that aren't really relevant right now, but mostly? Because it's _fun_," Dylan replied, hopping back up onto the bar. She turned around and began to walk backwards along the narrow metal beam. She was a bit more careful this time around. "You know what fun is, don't you, Your Highness?"

"I _have_ heard of it," he replied, putting scorn into the words.

She simply grinned at him again. Her grin faltered when her foot slipped on a thin patch of ice. Her arms windmilled and she squeaked in surprise as she lost her balance. Nuada darted forward caught her around the waist easily.

"Whoa," she gasped. Dylan's arms automatically slipped around his neck as she murmured a little breathlessly, "Thank you very much, Your Highness."

He gently set her on the ground. The snow crunched softly beneath her boots. "You're welcome," he murmured.

Nuada's eyes had been amber, but now they lightened to that beautiful and too-intense ivory again. A shiver traipsed down Dylan's spine as their eyes locked, warm ivory kissed by gold against silver-swept stardust blue. The Elven prince was very warm against her, despite the frigid bite to the winter night air. Dylan's arms tightened fractionally around his neck. His pale gold hair slid over her hands like cool spidersilk or starlight.

Dylan licked suddenly dry lips as she realized just how very _close_ she was to her prince. Nuada's eyes slid from hers down to her mouth. She saw him swallow hard. Saw the pulse beating hard at the base of his neck. Her gaze darted back to his face, and she saw he was still staring at her mouth.

_Oh, my_. Her mouth went dry. She tried to say something. Anything. Couldn't, for some reason. Her knees suddenly felt weak. Her fingertips tingled and she wondered how long she could keep standing when her knees threatened to knock together.

"Are...are you hurt, Dylan?" The feral-eyed warrior asked softly. He didn't know why her name slipped off his tongue like the smooth whisper of silk in the darkness. Her hands were cool against the back of his suddenly hot neck. Moonlight gilded her pale skin and turned the tangle of dark hair to silk and shadows that smelled of sweet summer flowers.

When she murmured "no," her voice was softer than a falling snowflake.

"Are you certain?" The arm that he'd caught her with tightened around her waist without conscious thought. Her breath caught and she made a soft, intriguing little sound in her throat. He suddenly remembered how soft her lips had felt beneath his fingertips. Soft as rose petals...

"Yes," Dylan whispered after a moment. "I'm sure."

And then she did something she'd never have thought herself reckless enough to try. She took one of the hands clasped behind the Elven warrior's neck and laid it gently against his cheek. The tremor that went through him at her touch was slight...but they both felt it. Her heart kicked into a gallop that threatened to strangle her. It was suddenly very hard to breathe.

Nuada's free hand came up to brush back her hair. The path left by his caressing fingertips along her temple and cheek tingled.

Dylan's thumb brushed against the edge of the scar carved deep across his cheekbone. His skin was so warm. _He_ was so very warm. She suddenly wondered if his mouth was just as warm. "Nuada...Nuada, I...we should...I..."

_Tell him, _a little voice in her head urged. _Say it out loud. Tell him the truth. Say "I love you." Tell him_.

"Dylan."

Nuada's voice was soft as the night wind gently rustling the ice-coated trees. That beautiful gaze flickered between her eyes and her mouth. Dylan's brain stuttered to a halt. Was he...would Nuada...was he going to...

Those calloused fingertips grazed her cheek again. Something golden and delicious flooded her veins as Nuada's thumb swept back and forth across the delicate edge of her cheekbone, as if mesmerized by the feel of her skin. Dylan swallowed and wondered if she were going to faint.

Nuada couldn't take his eyes off her mouth. It beckoned him, enticed him. Scant inches separated his mouth from hers—inches he could close with no effort at all. And she looked suddenly so beautiful standing there in the snow and the moonlight, her eyes like new stars. Every muscle in his body tensed. His fingers slipped along her cheek to tangle in the thick, luxurious darkness of her hair. He met her eyes for a brief moment.

Dylan wanted to let her eyes slide closed, but she didn't dare as Nuada leaned in toward her and everything in her went still. The wild scent of the forest, that feral scent that always clung to him, flooded her senses, leaving her dizzy with it, dizzy with his warmth and warrior's strength and his nearness. His grip on her tightened until she was pressed hard against the solid wall of his chest. She felt his heartbeat pounding through her own body and oh, he was so very warm against her, even through her coat. Dylan could feel the warmth of his breath caressing her lips.

_Oh, my gosh. Don't be stupid, don't be stupid._ _This is_ not _what I think it is. It's not, it can't be. But...oh...please, please, please..._She closed her eyes. Tried not to hope. Tried not to imagine where this would, just maybe possibly hopefully, end: with his mouth pressed against hers.

Swift brush of Nuada's lips, warm velvet against her own. She made a quiet, gasping sound of startled pleasure that turned his blood to molten gold. His lips whispered across her bottom lip, teasing, before fitting more firmly against her so soft mouth. He tasted her breath, peppermint and gingerbread and innocence. He tightened his grip on her as if to prevent escape, but she didn't resist. Only melted into him, her body going soft and pliant in his arms. She was so warm. So sweet. He'd never known a human could be so sweet.

A human...

Instantly, awareness of what he was doing crashed down on him, and he jerked back from her, pushing her to arms' length and holding her in place to keep her from trying to move back into his arms. Gods, what was he _doing?_ What was the matter with him? He'd gone mad. Kissing a human? He'd surely gone mad. Oh, and he could taste her still, and that taste beckoned him to sample it again. Not just a brief caress of lips this time, not just the maddening teasing of her lips ghosting against his, but a true tasting, a deep drinking of all she had to offer him-

_No!_ He shook his head as if to clear it. Snarled vicious, self-deprecating oaths under his breath as he strove to shove away the sudden—dare he say it?—desire like a knot of red-hot wire in his belly. He would _not_ lust after a human. Danu's mercy, he would never, _never!_

Dylan stared at him, confusion warring with shame and sharp, bitter disappointment in the pit of her stomach. For just a brief instant, his mouth on hers had been Heaven. His arms around her had been all that kept her anchored to the world as delight and disbelieving joy had flooded her veins like golden light. He'd kissed her. Nuada Silverlance, her Elven prince, had kissed her. But now...now...

He didn't want her. He was angry she'd kissed him. Disgusted that he'd kissed her back, even if it was only for a second. But why? Why kiss her at all, then, if he didn't want her? Uncertain, she reached up and touched only the very tips of two fingers to the back of his hand, where he rested it on her shoulder. "Nuada—"

He wrenched away from her touch. Stepped back. "Do _not_ touch me!"

"I didn't mean...I...I'm sorry," Dylan whispered. Something thick and hot threatened to choke her. "I don't know what I was thinking, I...please don't be angry."

"Do not be _angry_?" He demanded, incredulous ire thrumming through the words. "Do you have any idea what you've done? What _I_ have done?"

She opened her mouth. Found she had no words to answer him, so she closed her mouth again and mutely shook her head. His image blurred before her eyes. Panic shot through her—was he going to glamour himself invisible and leave her? It was only when something icy trickled down her cheek that she realized her vision had gone blurry because her eyes had filled up with tears. She swiped away the one tear that had managed to escape.

He saw that tear glinting in the starlight. That single tear could drown him in self-loathing, confusion, desire, incredulity, disgust. All but the desire was aimed like a hundred knives at his own heart. Had he forgotten the plight of his people? Had he forgotten that the children of men were his enemies? Had he forgotten—

The sound of Dylan's control breaking enough to allow one muffled sob to escape brought his attention back to the mortal he'd kissed, who was currently standing in the snow, hugging herself, shivering, as another tear coursed down her cheek.

Nuada swore under his breath. "Don't," Nuada muttered. She made a small sound he'd heard Nuala make often enough—the sound of a woman struggling to hold back tears. "I am not angry with you. I am merely...it's not your fault. It was an error in my own judgment. It will not happen again. Dry your tears before they freeze."

Using the hem of her sweater sleeve, which poked out from the sleeve of her coat, she did as he said. "I'm sorry, Your Highness."

_Your Highness_. Why did those words on her lips send icy tendrils tightening around his chest? His eyes tracked a rogue tear spilling down her cheek. Did Dylan even know she was still crying? "As I said," he said coolly, looking away, "it is not your fault. I have been in close quarters with you for some time and...and perhaps some...spark of attraction has grown between us. You may be human, but you _are_ a woman. I suppose it was...inevitable, no matter how revolting or ludicrous the idea."

"Ludicrous?" Dylan echoed, eyeing him with shocked hurt in her rainswept gaze. "Why is it ludicrous?" _Why is it revolting?_ She wanted to demand, but didn't dare. She wasn't sure she could ask the question without breaking down sobbing again. _Revolting_…He thought she was revolting?

He stared at her. "You are a human," he said, as if speaking to a particularly dull child. "A commoner. I am Elf-kind and a prince."

"Well...well, I know that, but...but you said you were fond of me." She stepped back from him, the snow crunching softly beneath her feet. A small fleck of crystalline whiteness dropped down from the silver wisps of cloud in the night sky to land on her cheek. It melted almost immediately after touching Dylan's pale skin. A tiny droplet of water slipped over the curve of her cheekbone, mimicking a teardrop. "You said that if you had to choose between me and Mïng Xiân, you'd pick me."

Nuada shook his head. "That is not the same thing, Dylan."

"Well, why isn't it?"

"That was regarding politics and marriage, not attraction or emotional involvement."

"Emotional involvement?" It felt like her heart was attempting to crawl into her throat and strangle the words trying to escape her. She swallowed hard and said, "You just kissed me. I would _hope_ there's some kind of emotional involvement!"

"I am fond of you, yes, but I could never..."

"Never what?" Dylan demanded in a tremulous voice. There was a long silence as snowflakes began to whisper down, soft as white ashes, from the sky. Nuada stared at her, almost as if he'd never seen her before. A slow ember of something—understanding? Dread? Regret?—kindled in the depths of his gaze. Dylan clenched her fists in the pockets of her coat until the knuckles ached from the tension. "Never what?" She repeated.

His voice was devoid of any warmth when he replied, "I could never love you. _Never_. I may be fond of you, but you are...you must see how ridiculous such a thing would be. It would be like falling in love with my horse."

Stung, the hurt sharp as a poisoned knife as it slid between her ribs to pierce her heart, Dylan could only gape at him for a stretch of silence before she managed to whisper, "Your horse? You're comparing me to your _horse?_ Just so you know, O Prince of Elves, the fact that you would _ever_ say that to me makes you the world's biggest jerk. What makes it so impossible for you to be in love with a human? If you can be fond of one, if you can be attracted to one, then why can't you—"

"Humans do not know how to love," Nuada said sharply, cutting her off. Why was this so difficult for her to comprehend? And since when did she take the part of the children of Adam in conversations about mankind versus the Fair Folk? And how dare she insult him? He ignored the guilt pricking behind his breastbone and continued, "Humans cannot love—"

"That isn't true!" She snapped. "_I_ love."

Nuada sighed, then growled, "Dylan—"

"I love _you!_" She blurted out. He jolted. Stared at her. At the way her mouth trembled and her eyes glistened with a sheen of fresh tears she refused to allow to fall. She sniffled once before closing her eyes and taking a shuddering breath. Blowing it out, she met his eyes again. "I've been in love with you for a long time and I'm human." Dylan bit her lip so hard it sent pain sparking through the flesh. She drew another shaky breath. "And you're a total jerk, Your Highness. Excuse me."

Before he could say anything, before he'd even had a chance to recover, Dylan brushed past him. Nuada turned, her name on his lips, but she picked up her pace and strode as quickly as she could out of the clearing and into the winter-bare trees of the Park, leaving him alone in the snow.

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_**Author's Note:**__ so...that's the beginning of this variation. I'm not sure where it will go. We'll see. Love you guys! Huggles!_


	2. Accidentally in Love

_**Author's Note:**__ hello! I know, it's been like, 5 months since I've posted anything, I know. Blergh. But here's a new chapter, and it's 1000 words longer than the last one, so hopefully that makes up for the lateness. That's 200 words extra for each month, lol. Anyway, guys, hopefully you enjoy this chapter. Loves for all! Huggles!_

_- LA Knight_

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_**Chapter**__**Two  
Accidentally in Love**_

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Was he following her?

Dylan didn't know, and didn't care. Let him follow her if he wanted. As long as he kept his mouth shut, she didn't care. She didn't care about anything—not the cold flakes of snow stinging her cheeks, the wind that had kicked up to bite into her through her leather coat, not even the dull ache in her knee as she slogged through the snow. No, she didn't care about anything except getting home and hiding in her room like a child. Immature? Possibly. But she couldn't gather enough energy to care about maturity while Nuada's words crashed around inside her head.

_I suppose it was...inevitable, no matter how revolting or ludicrous the idea._ Ludicrous, he'd said. Ludicrous that he could ever be attracted to her. _I could never love you.__Never_. Or care for her. Love her. Why had she let herself fall in love with him? Why had she been stupid enough to think he saw her as anything but…but baggage? An object, instead of a person? How had she forgotten his disgust for her?

She stumbled over a deep drift and nearly went down in the snow. Only a jarring step with her bad leg that sent needles of red-hot agony through her knee up and down all the way to her hip and ankle saved her from face-planting in the snow.

Stupid to come out so far. Stupid to make the long walk to the faerie metal playground when it could start snowing any minute—and had. No wonder the walk was so difficult. The salted, shoveled walkways had been snowed over while she'd been acting like a lovesick girl with a faerie prince beyond her wildest dreams…

His lips, so warm and velvet soft, yet deliciously firm against her own. His arms around her, strong as steel, gentle as a lover. She'd been safe, sheltered, for those few precious moments when Nuada had bent his head and kissed her as if he cared for her.

As if he loved her.

The word sent pain drilling through her chest, opening a wide, black chasm in her chest that threatened to crack her in half. _You must see how ridiculous such a thing would be_. She'd been stupid. Stupid. Hadn't her life taught her anything? Of course the one man she loved, a brave and honorable and—usually—kind man like Nuada, could never love someone like _her_. Could never…_It would be like falling in love with my horse_. That was all she was to him—an animal. Not even a person, but an animal.

A sob caught in her throat. She swallowed it, tasting salt, and hugged herself, huddling within the confines of her leather coat for warmth. She hadn't been cold when she'd walked out to the playground with Nuada. Hadn't felt the biting November chill of a New York night while swinging, talking, hurling snowballs. Where had the warmth gone?

_Humans do not know how to love. Humans cannot love_.

All around her was the soft _swish-swish_ of snowflakes dropping like slow icy tears to the white ground, and the muffled crunching of her own footsteps. The thudding heartbeat in her ears and the occasional sniffle as she fought back the tears her anger had temporarily quelled, but were now springing to her eyes like tiny diamond blades to cut tracks down her numbing cheeks.

Nuada wasn't following her. He was done with her. Of course he was. Dylan tried to resign herself to that fact. Resign herself to the idea that Nuada despised her now because she'd dared to fall in love with him, dared to reciprocate a kiss that _he_ had initiated. Whatever fondness he'd felt for her was gone now.

The tears were hot when they spilled down her cheeks. She dashed them away with the back of her hand before they froze to her cheeks, but they kept coming, scalding her cool skin. Scrubbing furiously at them, Dylan tripped through another heavy drift and felt to the snow.

Suddenly it was all too much: the issues with Lisa, Dylan's own suspension from work for a week, the horror of the pending evaluation, the voice-mails from her sister upon her return from Faerie, the situation with Bethmoora and faerie politics, and now Nuada's rejection. She couldn't take it anymore. Shivers racked her body as she hung her head and drew up her stiff knees, ignoring the pain shooting through her leg from the vicious cold. Dylan pressed her forehead against the tops of her updrawn knees. Hunching her shoulders, the cold seeping through the denim of her jeans and her leather coat, she stopped fighting…and simply cried.

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It took Nuada minutes to throw off the shock—agonizing minutes, where each second seemed to tick by like an hour. Snow began to fall in silent, sharp flurries of white all around him. He could only stare after Dylan in shock, long after she'd disappeared down the path.

She loved him?

That was impossible. Human beings couldn't love. The children of Adam were incapable of it. He'd seen evidence of this, irrefutable proof, throughout his centuries of exile and even before. Dylan's own childhood—a little girl locked away in the dark to be starved, tortured, beaten, and raped—was proof of this. Perhaps Dylan thought she loved him, but she couldn't really. No human could love.

_No human is capable of honor, compassion, or courage, yet she is_. A snide voice in his head mocked him. Nuada gritted his teeth, forcing himself to ignore the words echoing in his skull. The voice continued, _You know she is different. You know she is loyal, brave, kind, gentle. You know all this, yet think she cannot love? If you cut her, does she not bleed? If you break her heart, does she not weep?_ The words continued, relentless, as Nuada finally managed to stir himself enough to move, to follow after the mortal woman who'd sworn him her fealty. _Is it she who has no heart, Silverlance…or is it you?_

_Shut up,_ he snarled, striding down the path. Irritation simmered in his veins. He would catch up to Dylan, the prince decided, and demand an explanation. How had she come by the ludicrous idea that she was in love with him? What had she been thinking, behaving so inappropriately as to kiss him? He was a prince of the blood, by the Fates, not some stable-lad. And by what right did she vent her spurned anger at him for stating nothing but the truth? She was human, and he was an Elf. There could be nothing between them. And it did _not_ hurt to think those words.

The anger smoldered in the pit of his belly now as he continued through the woods, ignoring the snow falling more and more thickly around him. She would _not_ make him feel guilty for speaking naught but the truth. She would _not_ make him feel…whatever this clutching, choking, grasping ache throbbing in his chest was. It tasted of regret, yet that was impossible. Regret for what? Rejecting a mortal's advances? What else was he to do?

His righteous fury was in full sway when he found her huddled, weeping, in the snow.

Outrage melted away the moment he caught sight of the trembling black shape on the path. Snowflakes caught the moonlight, diamonds against the shadow of her hair, against the smooth darkness of her jacket. How long had she been sitting in the snow like that? Seconds? Minutes?

The weeping that poured like grief from her mouth felt like fists; every sob hit him low in the belly. He hadn't meant to hurt her like this.

He hadn't meant to make her cry.

Nuada didn't quite know what he meant to do as he quietly approached her. Instinct, and that clutching ache in his chest, drove him to kneel next to her and slip his arms around her, uncaring of the snow. She was so small, he thought. Slender as a willow wand, he could feel the fragile glass of her bones beneath her skin. Feel the shivers ripping through her, and the hurricane force of her sobs. He could taste the pain and sorrow like ashes emanating from her like some toxic miasma. She shoved against him. He didn't let go. How could he? After a single moment where the tension in her body seemed sharp enough to cut him open, Dylan relaxed and turned her face into Nuada's shirt, still weeping.

"Dylan," Nuada murmured, then trailed off. What could he say? He'd spoken nothing but the truth.

"I thought…" She hiccupped. Her fingers tangled in the loose fabric of his sleeve. For some reason, Nuada suddenly felt claustrophobic. As if heat and closeness and something sharp were pressing against him, all around him, smothering him. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to ignore the feeling. Hoarsely Dylan added, "I thought you thought I was a different."

He sighed. "You _are_ different," he said softly. His fingers were cold; that was why, he told himself, he slipped them beneath the silken tangles of her curly hair where it lay against the back of her jacket. "Where your people are vicious and cruel, heartless, you are…you're kind. Gentle. Brave. But…"

"But still no better than an animal," she whispered, and there was so much bitterness in those words he could taste it, wormwood and hurt. "Is that all I am to you, Nuada? A pet?"

Another sigh. "That isn't what I meant." He hesitated, then added, "Dylan. What you feel…it isn't love. Humans don't know how to—"

She jerked away from him, stumbling to her feet and backing away, shaking her head. The betrayal in her eyes was like a flame; he felt that dark fire catch at something within him and set it alight, and he couldn't have stopped the pain of that burning if he'd tried. The look in her eyes…it was too close to the look Nuala had slashed him with the day he'd gone into exile. That look of simple, broken, utter betrayal. Instinct had Nuada reaching for her, but he jerked his hand back when Dylan actually cringed from him.

"Dylan—"

"Do you have any idea what this feels like?" She whispered. "Do you know how it feels when I have to listen to you tell me that I can't discern what's real and what isn't? You, of all people…I know how to love, Your Highness. You've walked my mind before, you know I do."

Nuada shook his head, refusing to dwell on the memories of being in Dylan's mind—a mind so unlike any human mind he'd ever walked before. "Dylan, I have seen what humans are capable of. Your nature is destructive and cruel. Love is foreign to…" He trailed off when she thrust out her hand to him. When he didn't move, she took two sharp steps forward. He realized she was shaking.

"Fine," Dylan said in a voice that trembled. "If you don't believe me, then look for yourself. Prove that I'm crazy. Prove that I don't know what I'm feeling." He still didn't move, too stunned by what she was asking to form a thought. "_Prove it!_" She yelled. "Prove it! You can't tell me I don't know what love is, you can't _tell_ me these things, you can't _do_ this to me, then back down when I tell you to back it up!" Before he could blink, she was there, right in front of him, filling his senses_—_sight and scent and heat and touch_—_tangling her slender fingers with his. "Do it! Look into my mind and tell me that what I'm feeling isn't love. Tell me I don't feel like I'm dying inside every time I look at you because you'll never love me back, but I can't just walk away from you! Tell me this isn't killing me! Don't just stand there, _do it!_"

He didn't know why, what made him do it—the tears rolling like liquid crystal down her cheeks, reminding him too strongly of nights in the underground sanctuary where the darkness turned her into a terrified child again; the way the lips he'd so recently, so foolishly, so treacherously tasted were trembling; or maybe the despair warring with a plea in rainswept blue eyes—but Nuada tightened his grip on her hand, closed his eyes, and slid into Dylan's mind.

This time it was different. He hadn't been prepared, or he would've walked more gingerly through her thoughts, picking his way with care, instead of striding in as if it were familiar territory. He nearly staggered under the wash of warmth, and sadness, and an ache in Dylan that resonated with something within Nuada. Shock jolted through him when he realized something that should've been impossible—she'd been shielding this from him, just as she'd shielded him from the darkness of her memories, that night he'd walked through her mind. How else had he missed it? How could he have missed…this?

Velvet warmth stroking inside his mind, a caress that left him breathless. Grief, a hopelessness that made him grit his teeth. How was it that a human could feel such anguish? Yet that sorrow pulsed in her thoughts, a festering wound at the center of her. And self-loathing; why? What was there about her to loathe? Yet she despised herself…He felt the truth brush past him. With a flick of power, he caught her thought before she could censor it.

He didn't love her. Couldn't love her, she thought. Could never love her as she loved him. Despised her. He'd been her friend, her only friend that she could and had shared anything and everything with…and now he'd rejected her, because he'd kissed her and she'd dared to respond. Rejected her, as so many of those she'd loved had rejected her.

Nuada realized he'd been a fool not to see this before. How had he missed any of this? And how could he deny that she loved, when he could feel the rich golden purity of it washing over him like a summer sea, like crystalline starlight? It staggered him, the fey intensity of her emotions. How did a human feel so deeply? And how could anyone, human or fae, love _him_ like this, when his own family could not? Irrevocably, unconditionally?

And he also understood at last why it hurt her for him to say she didn't feel what she claimed to feel, didn't know what she claimed to know. How many times as a child had people, adults she was supposed to be able to trust, told her that? Lied to her? Brutalized her instincts, her self-knowledge, until she didn't know who to trust? Didn't know what was real and what wasn't?

"Oh, gods, I'm sorry," he whispered as he continued to drown in her. He didn't break his grip on her hand; couldn't. He'd never felt this from anyone before, except…but Nuada forced himself not to think of Yukihime. Instead, golden eyes locked with tear-filled blue. "I didn't know." It hurt, like a taloned hand squeezing his heart, when she said nothing, only wept harder. At last he released her to cup her face with both hands, wiping away the tears so they didn't freeze to her delicate skin. A bit of magic warmed her air-cooled cheeks. Gentle brushes of his thumbs across her cheeks swept away fresh tears as he murmured, "I didn't know. I did not realize…I'm sorry."

Then a mad impulse seemed to seize him. She was so small, so fragile standing in the snow, looking so lost. So heartbroken. He felt like a monster, seeing that grief in her eyes. Grief _he_ had put there. And she was shivering, too. Nuada drew her close, tried to warm her with a bit of magic and the heat of his body. Dylan gazed up at him, biting her bottom lip.

Love. She loved him. How…_how?_

Whatever madness had possessed him and urged him to take her in his arms now crept through his veins like molten fire, smoldering beneath his skin as his eyes roved over Dylan's tear-streaked face. Most women despised how they looked while weeping. Red noses, red-rimmed eyes. Dylan merely looked pale. Crushed, like a broken flower left to wilt on the ground. Tears glimmered in her eyes and spiked her dark lashes. Her eyes…so blue, so fey…damn her eyes.

His thumb swept across her cheek again. That insane fire clutched at him, forced his gaze to track the line of tears down the curve of her cheek to the corner of her trembling mouth. Her lips, pale sweet pink…he'd touched them earlier tonight, and they'd been soft as satin beneath his fingertips.

Gods, what was wrong with him?

"Dylan—"

"Don't," she whispered. "Please." Her voice broke. So did his heart, a little. Why did she look so frightened, so desperate? "Don't play with me."

Stung by her plea, he said, "I would never…why would you…I wouldn't toy with you, Dylan."

She pressed her lips together until they were nearly bloodless. Her fingers twisted in the black silk of his tunic. "Then why are you doing this?" Her entire body yearned toward him. His fingers flexed against her cheeks, and Nuada had to force himself not to caress her skin, not to bury his fingers in her hair. Why? Why did these urges whisper to him, tempt him? "Touching me like this? Why are you looking at me like that?" Dylan whispered. "Don't look at me like that."

"How do I look at you?" Nuada murmured. He leaned toward her, suddenly needing to recapture the closeness they'd shared at the playground. Honor demanded he comfort her when something he had done made tears sting her eyes. Honor, and…and…but it couldn't be…"Tell me."

Dylan shook her head. "No," she gasped. "No. Stop it. Please…" She squeezed her eyes shut. No, Nuada thought. No, that wasn't right. The madness, the insanity surging through his blood like liquid lightning, wanted to see the brilliant moonlit blue of her eyes.

"Look at me," he commanded. Dylan made a small sound, a sound of bone-deep pain. Gently, pleading, Nuada whispered, "Look at me, Dylan."

Her gaze when it fell upon him was like a blow. It struck him, nearly felled him. It seized him by the throat and refused to relinquish its savage grip. Whatever lunacy she'd infected him with began to burn, a wicked and inescapable hellfire. _No,_ he groaned silently. _No, gods, please. No…dammit, it cannot be…it can't…_I _can't…and yet…_

Gentle hands cleansing and tending his wounds; a lullaby, slightly out of tune, whispered in his ear in a dream; snowballs flying through the air; hot chocolate in the dead of night; her voice, the silver velvet of it, as it unfolded brilliant stories of princesses under sleeping curses and savage barbarian warriors; slender arms around his neck as she comforted him in the wake of brutal nightmares. Dark curls like silk shadows, eyes like the moon over Bethmoora, scarred lips curved up in a welcoming smile. Mortal. Human. Rescuer. One whom he owed. One who tried to be more than she ever could for his people. One who loved him more than any other ever had, save one.

Dylan.

And he…he couldn't…he could _not_…but, he realized with a sick jolt that nearly drove him to his knees, he _did_.

Suddenly knowing himself damned, he closed his eyes, tunneled his fingers into Dylan's exquisite silken hair, and captured her soft mouth with his own. She gasped, her entire body taut as a bowstring, and she shoved at his chest for a second—a split-second eternity of rejection—before sliding her hands around his neck. The edges of her hands caressed his jaw, her fingertips whispered against the back of his neck, and she pressed close.

Nuada tasted salt, tears. They stung his lips, burned his tongue. She was crying. No, no, that was all wrong. She shouldn't have been crying any longer. Why did she weep? He wanted so much to make it better. _Why_ did she weep? Was this not what she wanted?

_I love you_, she'd told him. Dylan loved him. So why did his kiss bring tears to her eyes? Why was there a sharp ache in his chest? It felt almost as if he held something precious cradled in his hands, something he knew was already beginning to vanish into the mists of the past. But why?

"Don't cry," Nuada whispered against her lips. "Don't cry, Dylan. Please don't cry."

"Why?" She whispered back.

He wanted to tell her, wanted to explain…but what would he have said? Even as his lips brushed hers again, gossamer promise, he knew this could go nowhere. Nuada could never give himself to Dylan as she wished. He could never allow himself to love her, even if he were capable of it. And he _was_ capable, wasn't he? Because she'd been right—he thought she was different, because she _was_.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Dylan whispered, her voice saturated with pain. No, he didn't want her to be in pain. Hadn't she suffered enough for him? Nearly dying for his sake so many times, and now this…Her voice broke when she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, "Would you believe me if I said that for once, I don't know the answer?" He shuddered, feeling the armored walls of ice collapsing around him as he allowed himself to confess, "Tonight, I shall play the fool. Tonight I shall abandon reason and give into madness. And when dawn comes, a fool will I be still, for I will still have no answer for you. I still won't know why I cannot turn you away a second time." His knuckles grazed the thick scar slashing down her cheek. A look that might have been pain crossed her features. "Dylan, I _cannot_ love you. I cannot let myself. It goes against everything I believe in."

When she drew a strangled breath, Nuada went very still. Two diamond drops fell from her lashes to splash hotly against his hands where they cradled her face. Every word threatened to transform into a sob when she whispered, "Nuada, please don't—"

"I should not love you," he interrupted. "I shouldn't. Humans…steal everything, don't they?" The hurt in her eyes raked him. He pressed his mouth to hers, swallowing the first of the soft, newborn sobs. He broke away, only to press in again, gentle but intent. Somehow, between kisses, Nuada whispered, "You steal my courage. You steal my honor. You steal my resolve. You steal my self-control. You steal my very breath with what I've found in your heart." He shuddered. The words seemed to tear from his throat when he groaned, "You steal my heart and soul."

Stunned, she blinked at him. This time, when he leaned in to kiss her, he covered her mouth with his and didn't pull back again. Her lips were so soft, soft and inexperienced as he moved his mouth over them. When he touched his tongue to them, traced the lush contours of those petal-soft lips, she made a sound that was almost a whimper and parted those sweet lips for him. Only then did he get a true tasting, the first long slow deep drinking of her, and he felt her almost swoon into his arms. His tongue delved into her mouth, exploring, coaxing her response. This was wrong, so wrong, but he didn't care any longer. Not after learning how she felt about him. Not after realizing he was damned for his own treacherous heart.

Instead, he lost himself in her taste, in her sweetness. If he was going to Hell, he might as well do it thoroughly. And he never, _ever_ wanted to hurt her, break her heart, as he had at the faerie metal playground. Because along with the golden pleasure of her love in his mind, he'd felt her pain, the agony of his rejection. He hadn't known he could do that to her. He _never_ wanted her to feel such grief again.

Perhaps it was the aftermath of what he'd felt in her mind, the sorrow and the love. Perhaps it was the heady intoxication of her kisses, her taste. Or perhaps it was simply that he had no self-control, no armor left. Then again, perhaps he'd simply gone mad.

Whatever it was, Prince Nuada Silverlance of Bethmoora whispered, "Dylan…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dylan, I am so very sorry, but I…I love you."

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_**Author's Note:**__ Hello again! So I didn't expect that. This chapter sort of grew organically (okay, no sort of, it just did). I had no idea where this was going until the words were on my word-processor. I only knew where it_ wasn't _going—along the lines of this dream I had where Nuada caught up to Dylan in her cottage, they kissed and stuff, and ended up having sex. I knew_ that _wasn't happening. So yeah…new timeline is very different from the original. Of course, Nuada in the original universe has never actually read Dylan's mind to feel the full depth of her love for him. That might shatter/shake up/humble anyone, yeah? So what do you guys think is gonna happen next? Reviews are love!_


	3. Our Souls Entwined

_**Author's Note:**__ hey, everyone, soooo…I wasn't planning on working on this anytime soon because I've got other things waiting for me, but for some reason I just couldn't stay away, so I wrote chapter 3 while taking a break from slaving away over my book that's coming out,_ Obsidian. _So I've noticed that Nuada is a bit on the fast-track, some might say, and hopefully this is explained properly in this chapter. I hope you like it. Originally the love-confession and all that was going to take forever, but that's just not where it went when I started writing (boo), so oh well. I'm still happy with this. I hope you guys are, too. Enjoy the chapter!_

_**Concerning the Chapter Titles:**__ real quick, the titles of all three chapters are songs. The first one is from Disney's_ The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian _(it's the ending theme during the credits). The second is the name of a song I like that someone brought my attention to as it applies to Dylan and Nuada in general. And this title is a line from the song "Creature of the Wood" by Tricky Pixie. Just wanted to make sure I had all my references in order._

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_**Chapter**____**Three  
Our Souls Entwined**_

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"Dylan…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dylan, I am so very sorry, but I…I love you."

The words crashed down on Dylan like an icy wave, half-strangling her so she had to gasp for breath. Her lips felt just a touch bruised, but pleasantly so, and they tingled, unused to being kissed with such gentle but fervent pressure. She could still feel the tender invasion of his tongue, though that most shocking of all kisses had already ended; could still taste him on her lips, in her mouth. There were no words for the taste of Nuada's kisses. No words for the confession echoing in her skull.

"What did you say?" She whispered. She shook her head, stunned. The winter air burned frigid against her damp cheeks. "No, you…you can't. You can't love me. You hate me."

Star-blond brows furrowed. A brief look of pain flashed across Nuada's face, deepening the shadows around his eyes, and he shook his head. His thumb swept across her cheek, leaving a trail of golden heat. "Never say that. It isn't true. It could never be true, Dylan. How could I ever feel such for you? For the woman who has always stood by me, remained steadfast beside me against all odds despite the shadows and pain of—"

She wrenched out of Nuada's arms. The night immediately turned icy in the absence of his warmth. "I don't want your gratitude or…or your pity or whatever…" She trailed off at the hurt that swept across his features. Biting her lip, she drew in a shuddering breath. "Look, I know you can't ever feel anything like that for me. I'm not stupid. I didn't expect anything. I _don't_ expect anything," the words were tumbling from her lips now, she couldn't seem to stop them, "and you don't have to lie to me to keep me with you. I made a promise and I intend to see it through. I'm not going anywhere. I know what the king will do if you come back without me, and I'm not going to let him—"

"I never thought you capable of such cruelty as this," Nuada whispered. Dylan clamped her mouth shut. Turbulent, xanthous-gray eyes stormy with a torrent of dark emotions that threatened to drown them both, Nuada tangled his fingers in her hair and tilted her head back, forcing her to look at him. "Lies, you call this? Unfaithful, then, you name me. Me? It would be an ill turn if I deceived you so when your heart is already broken. You think I would use you so cruelly? Toy with you, draw you in, only to toss you aside when it was over? Is that truly what you think of me?"

"I…I just…but you _can't_. You said…at the playground, you said—"

"May the Fates _curse_ me for the idiocy I spouted back there. I was a fool. I was a coward. There," he snarled. "Is that what you wished to hear? I'm a damnable coward, Dylan. I have lost or will lose nearly everyone I love at some point or another, through death…or through betrayal, just as I have lost my sister and my father. I've known this for centuries, accepted it. Once, decades ago, I foolishly dared to hope that I might not lose one whom I cared for deeply…but then she was taken from me. After that I allowed no other to insinuate themselves into my life, my heart…until you."

Nuada drew her to him with inexorable pressure. There was no chance for resistance, not when his low, earnest voice seemed to vibrate with something akin to pain, a pain that resonated with something within Dylan's heart. His nearness threatened to overwhelm her. He gripped her shoulders and said, "You slipped beneath my guard, battered down my defenses, stripped me of everything, and I knew nothing of it until that moment when I kissed you for the first time. And then I knew myself lost and damned for the treachery of my heart, and because of my cowardice, I could not face the truth of it. So I hid behind what I had always believed until that moment. I turned you away, broke your heart, to hide my own weakness. Forgive me that if you ever can."

Dylan squeezed her eyes shut. _The treachery of my heart_…Of course. They still couldn't get past the taint of her humanity. Love her he might—though she didn't know if she could believe him, even though he'd never lied to her—but he despised her, too. How long would it take for his hatred of that intrinsic part of her to poison any tenderness Nuada felt? How long could he love her before he began to loathe her even more than he loved her?

"Do you know what it is," Nuada whispered, his voice nearly breaking, "to realize you've betrayed everything you believe in, that you have sold your soul blithely and have sunk so low that you do not even care anymore that you are without honor, so long as you may keep what you sold both for in the first place? I _knew_ that in the end, I would lose my soul, my honor, and everything else, if I let myself love you."

She tensed her shoulders, stiffened her spine, clenched her teeth to keep back the sob stinging like salt in her throat. _Lost my soul, my honor…_Why did he have to say things like that? Why did he have to be so cruel…without even realizing it? _Sunk so low that you do not even care anymore…_Why was it so hard to breathe? Dylan forced her lungs to expand, forced herself to ignore the slow, leaden thumping of her heart. She wouldn't let it hurt. It wasn't like she hadn't known he felt this way. He might care for her, but he didn't want to.

Nuada's voice, tinged with something that might have been awe, penetrated the hurt gripping her like a merciless fist. "But then…I tasted your thoughts. The depth of the love you bear me. How could I turn from such love, such…beauty? Such hope, forlorn though it may be? I am not so strong as all that, Dylan. If anything or anyone possesses the strength to break me asunder, it is you."

Then the tears came again, though Dylan struggled to hold them back; they stung her eyes and spilled down her cheeks as she buried her face in his chest. His tunic smelled of pine trees and summer. She breathed in that scent and clung to him. Nuada's arms enfolded her, strong and sheltering. Muffled by his tunic, she still managed to sob, "What are we going to do?"

She knew she didn't need to elaborate. They couldn't be together. They could _never_ be together, unless the king ordered them to get married. And what if he didn't? What if they allowed themselves to keep falling, sure of their inevitable union, only for King Balor to then rescind any threat of forced marriage? It would shatter them both. Yet how could they walk away from each other now? And how could she stay with him—why would he _want_ to stay with her—when she was so detestably human?

"Nuada," she gasped into his tunic, "what are we going to do?"

"I don't know," he whispered roughly against her hair. "Gods, Dylan, I…I simply don't know. But we will think of something."

A half-hysterical laugh tore from Dylan's throat. She nearly choked on it. "What? What could we possibly think of? We're completely screwed. At least _I_ am. You have centuries to find someone better, but I will never, _ever_ find someone like you."

"And you think it so easy to find someone like you, Dylan?" Nuada tilted her chin up. The storm in his gaze had yet to blow over. Anguish and desperation and uncertainty warred within the depths of his eyes. "You think it wouldn't break something within me to have to let you go? I have sacrificed a thousand times over for my people, for my kingdom. Always it has knocked me down, but I have struggled to my feet. Now I have found the one thing that will lay me low for eternity. I have lost a woman I loved more than once in my many centuries. I cannot do it again."

His mouth came down on hers, scorching past the cold from the wintry air. Blood still pounding through him from the immersion into Dylan's thoughts, his own confession, the kisses that would always haunt him no matter what happened after, Nuada groaned against that sweet mouth and crushed Dylan to him. She gasped, sighed. Clung to him as if he might disappear at any moment. He was so gentle, his kiss patient, coaxing. He teased her lips apart with the softest nips of his teeth, the smallest flicks of his tongue. And when his tongue delved into her mouth once again to taste her, the sweetest invasion, she wasn't afraid. Even after he drew back, he cradled her face between his hands, calloused fingers caressing like rough velvet against her skin.

"Do not cry," Nuada murmured. "Please, Dylan. It will be all right."

She shook her head, feeling as if the movement were almost too much trouble. Exhaustion began creeping in on her. "You don't know that. I just…it seems like every time I let myself really care about someone, I lose them. My parents, my sisters. Even John—he disappeared and I grew up and then he came back, and I still love him so much but it's different now. There's a gulf between us because of those six years we were apart. I've never felt closer to anyone than I did to John when we were young…until you. I can't let you get any closer because you're going to leave and then I don't know what will happen to me."

"I'll not leave you, Dylan. Do you think me so faithless? Have I abandoned you yet?"

A trembling fist swiped at the tear-tracks on her cheeks. She drew a shuddering breath. "Things are different now." The knife that had been thrust deep into her chest at that first moment of rejection at the playground now twisted viciously. She could almost feel intangible blood spilling from the heart-wound. "Nuada…I can't do this."

Silence. A heartbeat of hushed fear and incomprehension. Ten heartbeats. Then, "What?"

"I can't…I can't let you do this to me."

"Do what?" He demanded softly. "What am I doing to you?"

Somehow Dylan managed to whisper, "Breaking me. I've broken…more times than I can remember. I've been shattered and had to piece myself back together so many times and I…I can't break again. I can't let you break me."

He shook his head. "Have you so little faith in me?" When she tried to pull away, he grabbed her by the upper arms. His grip was just shy of painful. "No. _No_, by the Fates, you cannot tell me you trust me, that you know me better than any other, then accuse me of trying to hurt you, trying to break you asunder as you have been broken before." He gave her a small shake. "Look at me. Look at me, dammit. You've dragged this confession from me and now you cast me aside?"

"No, that's not—"

"I love you," he said softly. Each word was a sliver of ice biting deep into Dylan's chest, a crystal knife that threatened to leave her bleeding to death. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. Nuada shuddered. "What you've shown me, what you've forced me to realize—it feels as though you driven a knife into my heart. I was a fool to turn you away. I can only beg your forgiveness but please, Dylan…please. Don't turn me away as I turned you away. Do not inflict that agony upon me."

She could _feel_ his pain, his anguish and yearning, mingled with self-disgust. The same strange connection they'd experienced on the cusp of that brutal nightmare stretched between them now, a gossamer filament connecting and binding them. Still Dylan shook her head. "Nuada, we can't be together. You know that."

"I will find a way," he whispered. "I swear to you, I'll find a way for us. I'll never break you, break your heart. I will _never_ turn from you, abandon you. Gods, I swear it." With a lightning movement he drew his twin-knife and pressed it into her hand. "I'll swear in blood if that is what you need. Don't you understand, Dylan? I have no armor left. You've stripped it all away. I could have pretended that I felt nothing for you but distant fondness _before_ touching your thoughts, but once the truth of what _you_ felt crashed down on me, I could no longer deny the truth of what _I_ felt. I know that you've been hurt before, by other men as well as by me. Please let me prove myself to you."

"Nuada—"

"_Please_."

One word, sharp as the blade held between their cold hands and brittle as frosted glass. It hung suspended between the Elven prince and the mortal, bearing down on them with all the weight of the aching love that clawed at them both. Dylan's gaze roved over his tormented face. He'd been hiding this, from himself as well as her. For how long?

She sucked in a deep breath. "What…what are you asking me?"

His eyes—flickering between warm amber and dingy gold-gray—slid closed. A tremor shivered through the Elven prince. He let out a short, almost-gasping breath. Then he whispered, "If I can find a way for us to be together…if I can find a way to have you and do my duty by my kingdom…then will you…Dylan, will you marry me?"

Her eyes shot wide. "M-Marry…"

"Will you accept me? Choose me? Will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?" He took her shaking hands, clasping them gently. "I know your faith is an obstacle, and I would not ask you to give it up. But I will do anything if you will marry me. I will beg you on my knees if that is what you require."

Dylan snatched her hands away. "Whoa. Whoa, slow down. I…you're doing a total one-eighty, I feel like I've got whiplash. What…first you're like, 'I could never love you,' and not even an hour later you want to marry me? What?"

"You're angry."

She shook her head. "No, I'm confused. I am _really_ confused. It's like you've been taken over by an alien or something. And…and I…you don't want to marry _me!_"

Nuada frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I'm human! And a commoner and…and a healer and…and I'm out of my mind. I've got more emotional baggage than you do. I'm not good for you. I…you don't want me."

With the implacable strength of a warrior, he dragged her back to him and wrapped an arm around her. Then he held up a hand. "Walk my thoughts. See what I felt when I walked through yours, how the truth of your heart forced me to acknowledge the truth of my own. See the moment when I realized I'd nearly allowed you to walk right out of my life forever. Find the truth of my love for yourself if you must…but do not stand there and tell me what I feel or not."

Sunlit topaz eyes locked with teary eyes of moonlit blue. Dylan carefully fitted her palm to the calloused flat of Nuada's hand. Their fingertips met, five pulse-points of heat. Nuada's forehead touched Dylan's. He closed his eyes, brow furrowing so that shallow lines wrinkled the space between his eyebrows. Dylan allowed her own eyes to slide closed as well. She drew a shaking breath.

"Feel what I feel," Nuada whispered. He was so close that his lips brushed hers with every word, phantom kisses. "Taste my thoughts. See what you have wrought within me, Dylan. Then I beg you…be mine for eternity."

The first tendrils of his mind whispered through their link, soft and sleek as shadow, warm as sunlight, gentle as a lover. He coaxed her to the edge of his mind, guiding her with only the most delicate of mental caresses. His breath came in short, shallow pants as the intimacy of Dylan's thoughts entering his in _just this way_ flooded through him…and through her. Dylan's breath caught in her throat as she came into him fully, as the haven of Nuada's mind enveloped her. Nuada breath escaped in a long, low sigh and he whispered in a voice tight with some indefinable need, "Oh, yes." Their thoughts, their _selves_ twined together, midnight warmth mingling with gentle moonlight; the fullest merging of minds Nuada had ever done with anyone but Nuala. "Yes," he breathed against Dylan's mouth. "Yes."

"Nuada…" Trembling, she sighed against his lips. "_Nuada_…"

Dylan _never_ wanted this to end. _Never_. To be so close to him, so hold him within her as he held her within himself…she was fairly certain this was more tender, more intimate than any physical expression of love could ever be. And she saw now what he'd meant by "what you've wrought within me."

He truly had no armor left. There was nothing to protect him if she should choose to hurt him. If she refused him, if she turned away from him…it would devastate him, and he would never recover. Too many people he'd trusted as he now trusted her had broken him in the past for him to take it again.

Warm lips pressed to hers, and she gave herself up to his kiss, a kiss so tender it made her heart ache. Into the kiss he whispered, pleaded, "Marry me, Dylan. Marry me, mo duinne, mo crídh."

Wondering if she'd lost her mind, Dylan whispered, "Yes."

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_**Author's Note:**__ wow! Not what you guys were expecting, was it? I do like to surprise people. What do you think's gonna happen next? I currently have no idea, but hopefully I'll figure it out, lol. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Hugs! Loves to you all!_


	4. Running Scared

_**Author's Note:**__ at last I have updated! Sorry to take so long. So the real world will have to intrude on our lovebirds. Dun-dun-DUN! And happy fourth of July, everybody. Love you all!_

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**Chapter Four**

**Running Scared**

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He carried her back to the cottage; the bitter cold had made her leg seize up after standing for so long without moving. But to Dylan, it had been worth it. Worth it, to slip like gossamer into Nuada's mind and be enveloped by his very self, to find herself wrapped up in his thoughts. It was the most intimate thing she'd ever experienced. Shadows and golden light, by turns cool as a spring breeze and warm as summer sunlight, had caressed her mind. She'd felt each whispering touch all the way down to her soul.

She could still feel the lingering echo of his presence in her mind as he cradled her to his chest and strode through the thickly falling snow toward her cottage. Her fingers curled in the collar of his tunic and she pressed her face to his chest, reveling in the gentle thud of his heartbeat against her cheek. Only two shadows loomed over her, threatening to snuff out the warm afterglow of what had happened in the woods.

Nuada loved her, but despised her humanity…and she had agreed to marry him.

It had been a sudden decision, almost spur of the moment. She'd been so wrapped up in his love for her, his _need_, that she hadn't been able to say no as she should have. To deny him this—to say she loved him only to pull back at the last minute and say that she didn't love him _enough_—would've been too cruel.

But it was still wrong of her to agree…wasn't it?

Just as it had been wrong of her to let him kiss her so passionately. Not because passion was wrong, but because she knew that without the armor of sexual or romantic experience, if he really kissed her and she allowed it, she would be lost completely. She would be swept up in the new powerful sensations her prince could evoke, and she knew exactly where they'd end up—rolling around in bed together. That couldn't happen. She was in enough trouble already.

Once inside the cottage, Nuada carried her to the living room. To Dylan's surprise, he helped her with her coat, expertly sliding it over her shoulders and down her arms, then went to hang it up as she kicked off her boots and sank onto the couch with a weary sigh. What was she going to do? She'd agreed to marry him, confessed her love…all of which had been a very bad idea when looked at objectively. What had she been thinking? Now she was even more entangled with Nuada than before. Now she had no hope of ever escaping with her heart intact. The realization made her eyes sting. She scrunched them shut tight and covered her face with her cold hands.

A new weight made the sofa cushions dip, and she looked up to see Nuada seated beside her. Concern showed plain in his eyes and on his face. Velvet-rough calloused hands came up to cup her face. His thumbs swept across her cheeks and she realized a few stray tears had escaped her control. They were hot against her cold face. She swallowed and tried to speak, but found she had no words.

"Can you ever forgive me?" Nuada asked softly, earnestly. Seeing the emotion in his gaze struck her a second blow. How could she turn away from him? She knew what it was to be rejected. Could she really break them both that way? Helplessly, she dropped her head against his shoulder. A gentle hand stroked her hair. "Dylan, I promise you, I will never hurt you so again. Please believe me."

"I do," she whispered brokenly. "It's not that. I…Nuada, I don't…" But she couldn't continue. Couldn't tell him that she couldn't marry him. Instead she twined her arms around him and held on tightly, as if afraid he would disappear at any moment. She felt him shudder before he buried his face against her hair.

"It's all right, mo crídh," he murmured. "It will be all right. I promise."

Dylan opened her mouth again in another attempt to explain when her phone rang. Nuada pulled back enough that she could get to her phone. When she saw the readout, her eyes widened. She clicked TALK. "Victoria?" She asked, confused. "Hey, hon, what's up?"

_"Francesca's hurt."_A brief pause. The deep breath before the plunge into deadly waters. _"The Blackwoods did it."_

"What?" Confusion and emotional turmoil over the situation with Nuada melted away, to be replaced by sick fear churning in her stomach. Blackwoods. Patrick and Xander Blackwood. Touching Francesca. Hurting her sister. The way they'd hurt her? No, no, no. "When? How bad?"

_"I just picked her up,"_ Victoria replied. Gone was the usual snarl of irritation and condescension the older woman employed when talking to her younger, "wayward" sister. Now there was only panic, and a dark fury that seethed deep inside. _"We're on the way back to her place. Those bastards attacked her after she got off-shift. Broke her wrist. She won't go to a hospital and I thought... thought that maybe..."_

_That maybe I could do something,_Dylan realized as another wave of fear left her feeling slightly nauseated. Aloud, she said, "Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. I just have to call John to give me a ride, then stop by the store and pick up a few first-aid things. Cesca's going to have to go to a hospital, though, Tori, if her wrist is broken. I can splint it, but she's going to need a cast. Are you sure it's broken?"

_"Yeah,"_Tori replied, and Dylan caught the undercurrent of queasiness in her older sister's voice. Victoria had always been rather squeamish. _"Yeah, I'm sure."_

"Okay," Dylan said. "I'll be there." She hung up and stared at the phone for so long in silence that she started to space out as fear began squirming like maggots in the pit of her stomach. When Nuada touched her wrist, she jumped. Met worried golden eyes.

"What's wrong, my love?"

_My love._ The words formed like liquid gold in her chest and melted into waves of warmth that helped combat the panic slithering up and down her spine. She took a deep, steadying breath and let it out.

"My sister, Francesca…she's been hurt. She needs my help. I have to call my brother so I can get to her." Seeing the flash of annoyance on Nuada's face, Dylan stiffened slightly. "Nuada?"

"I will take you where you need to go, my lady," the prince said coolly. "I will send a servant for the medical supplies you need. Make a list."

Dylan raised an eyebrow, taken by surprise both by his terseness and his willingness to help in something so…well, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. She knew Nuada had more important things to do than worry about her human sisters, but he was offering his aid anyway. Because…perhaps because he loved her.

**.**

Silver cat-eyes watched from a high window as Crown Prince Bres of the neighboring Irish-Elven kingdom of Cíocal bowed low to the fair-skinned, amber-eyed princess in the Royal Gardens and offered her his arm. So, the Fomorian prince had already begun attempting to woo the Tuathan princess. If it worked out the way Bres intended (at least publicly intended), the union produced between Cíocal and Bethmoora would be a strong one.

_But somehow I doubt that's actually what he intends_, the dark Elf thought. _If he intends harm to Nuala, I will have to put an end to him._

The Zwezda Elf currently spying on the princess and her would-be suitor brushed back a strand of midnight-black hair and allowed her lips to quirk into a satisfied smile. She knew, of course, about the Fomorian plot to poison the king. Had seen Lady Dierdre with the _naga_ slipping down the palace corridors only last night. If the dark Elf had been the proprietary type, she'd have been miffed at the Fomorians for stealing the beginning threads of one of her master's ideas. But since it didn't actually interfere with her master's plans, the Elf of Zwezda would let the Fomorian plot continue unmolested…for now. After all, _her_ goal was not the king. Her goal was her master's goal: punishment for the crown prince for betraying his people.

For thousands of years the prince had battled for the freedom and livelihoods of the Fair Folk, not just of Bethmoora, but of all the Elven nations and the countless kingdoms ruled other than by Elf-kind. And now he'd supposedly betrayed all that for a moment's aberrant carnal pleasure. If that were true, did Nuada still mean to raise the Golden Army or no?

_Master's plan originally was to drive the prince back from exile to better turn the king against him_, the spy thought, remembering how her male counterpart had, at the behest of their noble master, unleashed a dipsa serpent upon the prince a little more than a year ago. The dipsa were incredibly venomous. One bite could bring a fully grown cave troll to Death's door, though usually not beyond. And those tiny, poisonous fangs had pierced the prince's skin before the Silverlance had managed to hack off the creature's head. Her master had thought Prince Nuada would be forced to return to Findias to heal from the attack. Once returned to Faerie, the Elf prince would see what the One-Armed King had reduced the Court of Bethmoora to, and take action, thus forcing the king's hand.

Instead, the stubborn prince had weathered the three months of venom-induced illness alone in one of his lairs scattered throughout the mortal realm. Then an even more convenient (and far more infuriating) situation had dropped into her master's lap: the human woman.

_And now my master wants to use his original plan on the mortal instead of the prince—the venom of the dipsa serpent. No human has ever survived its bite. When the prince brings his little toy back to Findias, my master will sic the faerie snake on her. However..._And that was the annoying thing: there was that "however." _If we kill the woman, what if the prince decides to take vengeance on her killers?_

The Elf of Zwezda had mentioned just such a possibility to her master. He had laughed and said, "Vengeance for a human strumpet? It is not as if we slay the prince's _wife,_or even someone he truly cares for. I merely seek to rid him of his distracting little plaything. Once she is dead, he will return to his original path. If he doesn't, we'll know he truly is the traitor the anti-human factions suspect and he will have to be suitably punished for betraying his people yet again. As for this so-called great love of theirs…there is nothing to it. She is nothing but a pleasant distraction. Kill her, and the prince will be himself again. Then we turn the king wholly against him."

She knew her master feared and respected the prince. Anyone with any sense of self-preservation feared making an enemy of Prince Nuada Silverlance, especially if that person was no warrior to begin with (and her master certainly was not a warrior, nor even a common soldier). Yet he still plotted against the king's only surviving son. Was it foolishness…or cunning? Perhaps her master only played the coward and the fool at court to throw others off his scent. She had no notion. It didn't matter anyway. She was loyal without question, and had been since her youth. She cared for Nuada and Nuala…but the honor of the fae and her loyalty to her master came first.

_Woo your princess, Bres_, the silver-eyed Elf thought as the Fomorian walked arm-in-arm with Princess Nuala. _Follow your plots and plans if you so wish, but do_ not _harm Nuala and do_ not _get in my master's way. He'll put an end to you just as surely as he'll put an end to the prince's dalliance. And if you hurt my princess, I'll kill you myself._

She reached out behind her and found the head of the magical snake-creature that sat at her feet, coiled and waiting for her orders. She looked down into the reptilian eyes, so like her own slit-silver gaze, and smiled wearily at the scaled faerie. One hand gently stroked those tiny, iridescent scales. _Serpentine death walks Findias on two legs, like an Elf_, she thought as the forked, black tongue flicked out to taste the air. _As soon as the human returns to Bethmoora._

**.**

On the trip to Francesca's fifth-story apartment, Dylan learned something new about Nuada—he could _run_. Bearing a leather satchel with the necessary supplies for her sister, Nuada had woven his long hair into a silvery braid and then bent slightly backward, instructing Dylan to wrap her arms tightly around his neck and shoulders. Once she'd complied, he'd ordered her to give a small hop. Feeling foolish, she'd done so. At the same time, Nuada had twisted just a little so that she'd settled onto his back like a child about to get a "pony ride" from her father. Though it had been over two decades since she'd gotten anything of the kind from her father, the position was still familiar and it had been easier to settle into place.

After getting the address from her and making sure she was ready, Nuada had glamoured them and taken off like a shot toward the gates of Central Park. The running had been exhilarating—the wind whipping through her hair, the snowflakes drifting so slowly that at her incredible speed it had seemed as if they were standing still, the crisp winter air in her lungs.

Then they hit traffic.

Dylan scrunched her eyes shut and pressed her face against Nuada's neck as he gave a sharp jump. She squeaked as they went airborne. There was the sound of his boots hitting metal, then he catapulted off the taxi-cab's roof, bounded across three lanes of traffic, and easily found the sidewalk. Dylan was practically hyperventilating at this point, but the same excitement she felt on a rollercoaster had taken up residence in her stomach and she had to fight the urge to giggle slightly hysterically.

Nuada kept running—free-running, she'd heard it called—dodging cars and launching himself over delivery trucks, scaling the brick sides of buildings and then dashing across the roofs to leap to other buildings. When he took the longest jump yet, a gap that spanned at least twenty feet, Dylan actually got enough breath to scream…but it wasn't in fear. They landed and Nuada glanced at her over his shoulder.

"All right, love?" He asked warmly. He hadn't broken a sweat from his exertions; he wasn't even winded. She nodded, giggling somewhat breathlessly as exhilaration swept through her.

"I'm fine. This is…amazing." She shook her head in open admiration. "You're amazing."

A little-boy grin edged with smug, male satisfaction lit up his face. "Well, thank you, milady. We're almost there. Let us continue, shall we?"

Once they arrived at Francesca's apartment, her prince carried her up the five flights of stairs (none of the building's elevators were currently in service) on his back. It almost made Dylan laugh; she hadn't been carried around like this since her high school years in the institution, when the rare male friend had managed to sneak a piggy-back ride when the adults weren't looking. Nuada set her down on the landing in front of her sister's door. She raised her hand to knock, then turned to look at her prince.

"Thank you," she murmured. "You didn't have to do this. Thank you, Nuada."

To her surprise, he caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips. His breath was warm and soft against her skin just before he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Her heart lurched in her chest. It nearly somersaulted when he carefully nipped her knuckles, a gentle scrape of teeth, while holding her pinned with the sudden intense amber of his gaze. Dylan swallowed hard.

"For you, a ghrá," Nuada whispered. "Always and only for you."

**.**

The moment the door opened to reveal a slender woman who favored Dylan in looks—her black hair was darker, longer, but it was just as curly, and they had the same silvery-blue eyes, though this new woman's eyes were flat and empty as any human's, lacking Dylan's fey quality to her gaze—Nuada's lady limped inside. After a moment's hesitation, the woman who'd answered the door made way for Nuada as well, who glamoured himself to look grotesquely human.

Dylan went straight to where another woman hunched on the ratty sofa. She would've been identical to the first woman if not for the bruises shadowing her beating-swollen face. Her broken wrist was cradled to her chest. Rage and revulsion pulsed through Nuada's blood. Human or no, violence against women disgusted him.

"Hey, 'Cesca," Dylan murmured gently, and her injured sister looked up.

Francesca's smile wobbled. "Hey, D." Slow tears coursed down the cheeks covered in purple and blue bruises.

When Dylan tried to lever herself to the floor, she ended up falling and hit the floor with a _thump_. Nuada moved to help her, but she waved him away with a tight smile. "Ow. Grace, my name is not. Give me your wrist," she said to her sister. Francesca, usually so foul-mouthed and loud and abrasive, meekly and quietly obeyed. Nuada quietly thanked the gods for small mercies.

While Dylan set the bones in her older sister's wrist and splinted it, took care of the lacerations on that beautiful face and strapped her sister's cracked ribs, she talked about how she and her battered sister would file a police report as soon as this was over. If the older woman didn't want to go to the "cop shop," then Dylan would call someone named Peabody and the LT would come up to the apartment. When Francesca protested, Dylan said only, "It's against the law not to file a report on a crime."

"What if I don't want to press charges? Ow," Francesca added when Dylan touched the multi-colored shiner surrounding her left eye.

"Doesn't matter. Obvious signs of physical violence means you don't have a choice," the psychiatrist replied, and put a butterfly bandage on the gash bisecting her sister's left eyebrow.

_Don't think about who did this_, a female voice whispered in Nuada's mind.

Only centuries of self-control kept him from jumping in shock. He recognized that voice. Dylan's voice. He was hearing her thoughts, sensing…sensing some darkness in her mind. A result of their mind-merge earlier? He stiffened his spine, determined not to touch anything in this foul hovel he didn't have to, and listened to his lady's thoughts.

_Don't think about them_, Dylan commanded herself, and in his mind's eye, Nuada saw and almost seemed to _feel_ fingers biting, bruising. Impossible strength pinning narrow hips. Blows against a small young face because, at age twelve, when someone bit Dylan, she bit back. Hard. _Focus._

_What is this?_ Nuada asked as something sick and savage churned in his stomach. _What am I seeing?_ Dylan's memories. Memories of who? Of what?

"Your two options are to go down to the police station or let me call Peabody (or someone on her squad) and have them come here."

Francesca didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, she said, "I'll talk to Peabody—tomorrow, by myself—on one condition."

Dylan paused in cleaning grit from a scrape on her sister's forearm. "What condition?"

A nod in Nuada's direction had the prince stiffening automatically. "I want to see a picture of your boyfriend without his shirt on."

Two pairs of nearly-identical blue eyes locked. Revulsion rose up in Nuada's stomach, bile seared his throat. She wanted _what_? The little harpy wanted _what_? After a minute, Dylan rolled her eyes in what might have been exasperation.

"I don't _have_ a picture of him, much less one of him shirtless. And he's not my boyfriend," she added belatedly.

Nuada barely refrained from raising an eyebrow. Why didn't she tell her sisters that he was her betrothed? To protect him from her family? Or because she was having doubts? Instinct told him it was most likely the second one…but that was ridiculous. And how was she even having such an innocuous conversation when he could feel the sick horror threatening to make her ill? There was something going on here, something more than he knew…but he would discover it soon enough.

"Riiiiight," Francesca replied, with a look that was disgustingly lewd. "He was at your house at two in the morning because you guys were doing calculus homework." At Dylan's look, Francesca added defensively, "Hey, Mom and Dad always bought that excuse when _I_ used it. Anyway, you never have guys over. You never have _anyone_ over—ow!" The transparent green gel Dylan was currently spreading over the scraped arm seemed to sting; the little witch deserved it for making such salacious comments. Unfortunately it wasn't enough to deter the revolting mortal. "So obviously this guy's really special. I wanna see him without a shirt. Ouch."

"If I promise to try, will you go down and file a report?" Dylan looked over in time to catch Nuada's glare, but the expression on her face begged for patience. With a reluctant nod, he forced his face to blankness.

"Pinkie swear." The mortal offered the pinkie of her free hand. When her younger sister hooked her own finger around the proffered pinkie, Francesca smiled again. It didn't wobble as much. "Okay, so…I gotta tell you something."

"Uh-oh." Dylan went back to putting a bandage on the scrape. _Don't think about them_. The words reverberated through Nuada's skull as Dylan tried to focus on what she was doing. Hell's teeth, he could feel the phantom memories slithering through her brain: cruel hands wrenching at her hair, knuckles splitting her lip, the taste of mortal blood like poison in her mouth, couldn't breathe around the hand clamped tight over her face…and then the awful, horrible ripping pain when—

Rage, black and vicious and burning icy-hot, flooded his veins. Who? Who was she remembering? But he could hear her shoving the memories down, forcing herself to forget what could never be forgotten. _I am_ not _going to think about this. I'm not going to remember it. Not right now._

"The dickheads wanted me to give you a message." Francesca said, and Dylan's eyes went glassy. "They said, 'Tell your sister to mind her own business.'"

Dylan's hands jerked violently and she fumbled the cap to the bottle of green gel. She paused. Took a ragged breath. Then she screwed the plastic cap back on the bottle and stowed it in the bag of medical supplies she'd brought. She turned back to her sister and looked her over with a critical (albeit professional) doctor's eye. She pulled out a container of mortal painkillers.

"Take four of these every six hours, with food, and keep that splint on your wrist. It'll limit your mobility and keep the swelling down until you can get to a clinic."

She began putting all of her things back in the bag. Her scissors fell out as she tried to stuff everything into its proper place. She paused with the scissors in her hand. The living room light flashed off the edge, like fluorescents gleaming on the edge of a knife.

"Was there anything else?" Dylan asked softly. Nuada tensed, though he didn't know why.

"They... they said... they said to tell you, 'Hi.'"

The sharp scissor blade bit deep into her palm. Crimson blood welled up and seeped between her fingers. Nuada was at her side in an instant, cupping her hand in both of his, sending soothing magic into the wound to dull the pain. But she didn't seem to feel the burn of the wound at all. Didn't even acknowledge the blood welling up and seeping between her fingers until her phone chimed and vibrated.

Shaking herself, Dylan reached with her mostly-uninjured hand (the cut at the base of her thumb had almost healed) and grabbed the royal blue device. Checked the screen. Nuada scanned the readout as well; a typed message from someone called Dr. Hollis. The words made no sense to him, but they seemed to fill Dylan with icy terror.

_"Lisa in Iso 4 attacking Westenra. Your psych-eval—Tue 8AM. Westenra conducting. Nothing can do. —Dr. H"_

Westenra. Westenra? He knew that name, but how? And what did that mean, Westenra conducting? Nuada remembered Dylan needed to be "evaluated" in order to return full-time to her job, but why did this Westenra need to be there?

Dylan made a small sound, one Nuada hoped never to hear from her again. His eyes widened as the color drained from her face. He reached for her, but before he could touch her, she struggled to her feet and raced down the hall, barely making it to the bathroom before she was thoroughly and violently sick.

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_**Author's Note**__: hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I'd love to hear what you think of how things are going thus far. Huggles?_


	5. What's In a Name?

_**Author's Note:**__ so here we are with a new chapter. Excitement! Who's excited? Anyone? No one? Someone? Well, I hope you guys are enjoying the journey so far and I hope you enjoy the chapter. I love you all! Huggles! And this chapter is dedicated to WhenNightmaresWalked because they're going to be starting some pretty intense awesomeness soon and I want them to know that I'm thinking about them! Love you, hon!_

_._

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**Chapter Five**

**What's in a Name?**

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The journey back to the cottage was a somber one. Although Nuada carried Dylan on his back, as before, whatever exhilaration she experienced from that particular mode of travel seemed to have faded. She kept her face pressed against his shoulder and was almost unnaturally silent as they made their way back to Central Park and the little cottage just inside its gates.

Dylan said nothing as they entered the stone house. Nuada helped her remove her coat, then watched almost helplessly as she stumbled into the kitchen without a word to him. Something about the way she moved had every instinct pricking. Tossing her coat onto the coat-rack, he followed after her silently. and found her at the kitchen table, her face in her hands. Though she was nearly completely silent, her shoulders hitched as she cried almost soundlessly. Each wrenching sob seemed to rip out of her with breathtaking force.

"Dylan," he said softly, his voice cutting through the storm of soundless weeping. She stilled, almost as if she held her breath. Nuada gently laid a hand on her shoulder. He could feel the tremors shivering through her; she reminded him of a frightened rabbit. "Dylan…we need to talk, mo crídh," he said, and slid into the chair beside hers. He took her hand and examined it carefully. A few spots of blood stained the white linen bandage. Wet blue eyes met his. "What happened?" The prince asked.

She shrugged, as if they were discussing something utterly boring. "Cut myself on some scissors," she replied in a quavering voice. "You were there, you saw. I fumbled them and cut myself. No big deal."

"That is not what I meant," he murmured. The prince knew she would not miss the undercurrent of steel in his voice. "Something frightened you. Will you tell me what it was?" But his lady looked down at the table and said nothing. "The men who attacked your sister attacked her for a reason—to get to you. Didn't they? Who are they?"

Biting her lip, Dylan shook her head. "Don't ask me. I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't!"

"Dylan—" He began, but she brought her fists down hard on the table, making it rattle.

"Nuada, I _can't!_ For your sake and mine, I can't. If I tell you, you'll do something reckless and get hurt. I know you. I _know_ you! You see me in tears and you go ballistic, okay? So I can't because…because…" She swiped her hands over her face in a vain attempt to remove any trace of tears but a fresh one spilled over anyway. Nuada brushed it away with the backs of his fingers. The gentle touch just brought more weeping. "I can't," Dylan whispered. "Please don't ask me."

"If I promise not to do anything reckless, will you tell me?" He could do _nothing_ if he didn't know what was wrong. And besides, he could make that promise and still put a very violent and bloody end to Patrick and Xander, since Prince Nuada Silverlance was _never_ reckless. But Dylan shook her head. "Dylan…why must you keep this a secret from me?"

Dylan dropped her head, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. Nuada's hand stretched out, and with cautious fingers he parted the curtain to see that the fragile mortal had gone white, was squeezing her eyes shut, pursing her lips into a tight line. She reacted to his touch with a shiver. "Nuada…if you do anything crazy, anything that breaks the truce, your father will hurt you again. He might even kill you and I…I just couldn't bear that. I couldn't, not after…you mean too much to me."

Even as warmth coiled in his chest at her declaration, fury pulsed through his blood. These monsters would escape justice because his father had frightened Dylan to the point that she was afraid to give them up, for fear they would be—justly—punished. No. No, that couldn't happen. Whoever these men were, they had hurt his Dylan in the past. Assaulted her. He'd actually _felt_ it. Felt the savage agony of being ripped apart. He couldn't let that go, truce be damned. He would make these men pay for what they'd done, both to his lady and her kin. Though Nuada had no fondness for Dylan's family—he despised them, in fact—they were still her family, and no enemy of hers had the right to lay hands on them.

"These men hurt you," he said softly. "They have to pay for their crimes, Dylan." When she simply shook her head, he leaned in with deliberate slowness. "I know what they did to you. Tell me their names," Nuada ordered. His voice was so empty it would've terrified any warrior that heard it. Dylan's face tightened. The prince cupped her chin, tilting her head up so he could look at that pale, pale face. "Tell me the names of the men who assaulted your sister…and raped you."

She cringed from the words. "How do you know that they…? Never mind," she said before he could answer. Shaking her head, she said, "I don't know why I'm surprised; you're so good at reading me. I can't hide anything from you, can I? But it doesn't matter who they are."

"_Nithe__sé_—it matters." Oh, it mattered. He had to focus on this one thing that mattered, so he could stop thinking about the fact that someone, somewhere, was walking around with Dylan's blood on their hands and her pain on their soul. After the brief glimpses he'd received at her sister's apartment, Nuada was determined to extract every drop of pain these men, whoever they were, had served up to the woman he loved…and then he'd kill them. Nuada would lose himself in hunting down this lately-revealed threat and killing them. The mortal blood would be hot against his skin, the stench of iron burning in his nose, and the satisfaction in delivering justice would be perfect.

His hands shook. Every inch of skin prickled with an animal awareness as the need to bring down this enemy, the ache to rip them apart, settled over him. Oh, it mattered. It mattered. How could she doubt that?

"Tell me their names. Tell me now, and I will hunt them down, and then I will kill them—_slowly_—to pay them back for what they did to you." But she shook her head again. Nuada was quiet for a long moment before asking, "How old were you when they hurt you?"

Dylan flicked a glance at him, then stared hard at her toes, which were scrunching and un-scrunching in her shoes in agitation. She drew several shallow breaths. In a voice that was barely there, she whispered, "I was twelve the first time."

_The first time._ Gods…twelve years old. Barely more than a child. She was just a girl…just a little girl…A sickening thought shot through Nuada's mind, crystallizing in his brain like a spike of ice. Could it possibly have been…? Fighting the urge to grab one of the empty mugs on the counter and hurl it against the wall, Nuada asked in a vicious snarl, "Patrick and Xander?" Wide-eyed, Dylan nodded. "Why didn't you tell me they were still stalking you? Why didn't you tell me they were still a threat? Stars curse it, Dylan, how am I supposed to protect you if you do not tell me these things?" Before she could reply, he added in savage demand, "Why have the human law enforcement done nothing?"

"Their father has money. Power. Influence." She shrugged helplessly. "He protects them. I've tried to take them down before, Nuada, but it won't work short of murder, and I can't do that. Neither can you," she added sharply as Nuada's expression turned feral. "I'm not surprised they haven't let me go yet. They had a system, I found out in the institution. If they had someone particularly…fun, they told their father and he would come and see for himself. That's what happened in the institution. He wanted to meet me. He…liked me. So they kept me. Then I took myself away." She shook her head, an odd expression crossing her face. "They didn't like that."

"Kept you?" The question was soft, vicious with horror and black fury. Nuada's heart lurched in his chest. His stomach twisted until he had to fight not to be physically ill. How could she say such things so calmly? "Continued to hurt you?" She nodded. "For how long?"

Dylan swallowed. "Three and a half years."

The half-mad rage that filled Nuada in a tenebrous flood had him shoving to his feet, shaking with fury and bloodlust. His hand itched for sword or lance, that he might track this Patrick and Xander and their twisted sire down now and put a bloody end to them. Three years? They'd had his lady at their mercy for _three years_? He clenched his teeth; they snapped together so quickly he bit the inside of his cheek and the fey sweetness of his own blood filled his mouth. Those putrescent pieces of human vermin had to die. They had to die now, tonight. He had to hunt them down and…

"You can't go after them," Dylan cried, clutching at his sleeve. "Please, Nuada, the king will kill you. He'll kill you! Please don't do it!" But he couldn't offer her the words she longed to hear. He couldn't tell her he had no intention of executing those monsters, because he had every intention…but it would take time if he didn't have their surname, and Dylan refused to give it to him. The thought enraged him. Why would she protect her assailants? Why defend these monsters? Simply for Nuada's own sake? The rage boiling in his blood turned hotter; curse his Father to the blackest, most desolate waste of Annwn for making Dylan so afraid.

Instead of speaking and lashing out at her unjustly, he offered her a bow and stalked off to seek his bed.

**.**

Nuada did not look around when he felt the sun on his face, or the soft kiss of the wind against his back. He kept his eyes closed. He did not want to see again this place that pulled at his memory and his heart. It was only a dream. A dream, yet still a memory, which meant only one thing…

"Brother, what are you _thinking?"_ Condemnation. Irritation. Confusion.

Nuala.

Forcing his voice to remain passive, empty of the molten anger and hot frustration riding him, the prince demanded, "Why did you bring me here again, my sister? What do you hope to accomplish?"

Nuala's touch, light as a breath on his shoulder, had him fighting the instinct to flinch away. When had it become Nuala that he shied away from, and Dylan whose comfort he sought? _Since the night I dreamt of blood and butchery. Since the night she did not shrink from me, but instead pushed away my nightmares._And his twin... when was the last time she had done anything to help soothe the grief in his soul?

"Where are you, my brother? Why do you not return to us? Father is..." _Furious._The word whispered across the mystical link that bound them. But all his sister said, in a gentle voice, was, "Concerned."

Concerned that perhaps he'd found the final piece of the Golden Crown and would now pull the various strings he had tied into his father's court and find someone to steal the other two pieces? Concerned that, in his fury at the forced courtship, his not-inconsiderable temper had finally snapped and he'd... what? Hurt Dylan? Killed her to rid himself of the human pest? Rage was a black pulse in Nuada's chest. He would never hurt Dylan. He loved her, and though that made him a traitor to his people, to all the Fair Folk, it prevented him from ever lifting a hand against the mortal woman who'd stolen his heart.

"Do not lie to me, Nuala," the prince snapped, shutting his eyes to hide their shift from topaz to molten bronze. He didn't want to fight with her. Not here. Not now. Not at all if he could help it. He was still raw from his time with Dylan earlier that night, their confessions of mutual love, her acceptance of his treacherous marriage proposal. So all he said was, "How dare you lie to me in this place?"

"Then tell me where you are—"

"It is _not_your business, Nuala!" He did open his eyes then, and didn't miss the way his sister—his twin, the other half of his soul, who should have _known_ that he would _never_ harm her—flinched away from him. He didn't miss the fear in her eyes. The fear that seemed to always shimmer just below the surface, no matter how gently he went with her. It only fueled the rage burning within him. Nuala feared him, despised him, as if he were the type of monster he currently wished to carve out of Dylan's life.

"Am I a prisoner," Nuada continued, "to be dragged back to Father's hall when it suits him, to be publicly shamed and humiliated before the entire court? Or am I Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance, son of King Balor, heir to the Golden Throne, war chieftain of Bethmoora?"

"Brother—"

"I will _not_ be a prisoner, Princess. Not to the humans and not to you. Or to the king." It hurt—like a poisoned knife in the back, it hurt—to put the icy walls of court and rank and title between himself and his father. Between himself and Nuala. Sister, twin, other half of his heart. But it was the most efficacious defense at the moment and the only one he could think of. "You look me in the eye and ask me, 'Where is your honor?' But my lady looks into my eyes and she does not need to ask."

"She is young, and foolish," was all Nuala said. Then, the most damning words of all. "She does not know you, Nuada. We do."

The Elven princess felt the pain, then. Her brother's pain. Swift as an arrow. Sharp as the edge of her brother's sword. She didn't _want_ this. Didn't he see that she didn't want it? Didn't want to hurt him this way? But her brother could not hope to find protection in a mortal's naiveté on the subject of the prince and his broken honor. Such a paltry defense would not stand against their father's anger at being so openly disobeyed.

_Prince, warrior, protector, lord and friend. Paragon of honor, courage, and all those other impressive, princely virtues. I know who you are._ Words. Mortal words. Why did Dylan's words always serve to leave him...almost dumbfounded? Every time. For a moment he allowed himself a sliver of anger. It should not be that he was forced to resort to finding solace far from his home and his family, forced to seek it in a mortal woman's lowly cottage at the edge of the woods...in a mortal woman's kind eyes and easy smile. It simply should not _be_.

Just as it should not be that he loved her, loved her with his entire soul, as if she were a vital part of him that had been missing ere now. It should not be that he could find hope, even peace, with one of the children of Adam when he was supposed to despise her. Shouldn't be, but was.

"I defend you to our father, my brother, but I cannot hold him forever," Nuala murmured when her twin did not speak again. She could feel the anger pulsing between them. Feel the darkness of his constant rage, the fury that always seethed and smoldered deep inside him. That anger frightened her. Did Dylan truly not see it? That was only further proof that the human was blind to Nuada's faults. But with the anger were flickering bits of emotion that came and went so swiftly the princess could not name them. Rather than try, she simply added, "You must come back, and soon. It has been almost a week."

"And what waits for me there, my sister?" The violent storm of emotions roiling within her brother began to die a little. He sounded so tired suddenly. Almost defeated. She knew it was cruel to push him yet again this way, but..."There is no welcome for me in Bethmoora."

"It's your home!" Nuala protested, reaching out to him. As a child she would run to him and throw herself into his arms—when she wasn't pummeling him for putting something disgusting (like a frog) in her bed. Those embraces had been so easy. Yet it was so hard to bring herself to touch him now, knowing what she knew of him. Still, she managed it. Managed to just lightly lay her hand on his shoulder. She could feel the winding tension in him through that small contact. Tried to pour comfort and love through their bond.

"No," he said softly, feeling the words echo in his skull. He was saying _no_ to so many things—including, for the first time in his life, his sister's delicate mind-touch. He tried to ignore the relief he felt from her as she pulled away. "No. Bethmoora is not my home." Not now. Perhaps when his mission had been accomplished and his father had been made to see reason regarding the humans. Maybe then Findias would be home again. But for now his home was a little stone cottage on the edge of the woods, surrounded by a sweet little garden and a white-washed wood and stone fence. His home was a beautiful and scarred mortal woman who offered all of herself and held nothing back.

"Father loves you, Nuada. You know that." _And_I _love you, my brother, so very much. If only you could see that._

The look he gave her, so carefully blank, was all the more heartbreaking because she felt his grief. Felt it, knowing he strove to suppress it so she would not. How heavy it was. She yearned to smooth away the lines of strain around her brother's eyes. She wanted so badly to hold him to her, to comfort him as when they were children. But she couldn't. She knew she couldn't.

"Please," he said, his voice a mere thread of sound. "Sister. Tell Father... tell him that I love him, that I have always loved him. I mean no disrespect with my actions. But I will not return to Findias without Dylan at my side. My honor and duty to her, and the king's orders, demand this. And she is not ready to return. When duty no longer calls me away, then will I return."

The prince turned away from his twin, and something in the grass caught his eye. A small, pink flower with an ivory center. Petals like silk, none of them bigger than a brownie's eye. Without thinking, Nuada knelt down and plucked the little wildflower. He would never have done so in the waking world. But this was a dream and the flower looked strangely familiar. Where had he…?

Dylan. At midsummer, when he had seen her at the medieval faire in Central Park. Nuada recalled the memory easily—Dylan in a long, flowing ivory and primrose-colored gown, the late-setting summer sun burnishing her hair. She'd worn a crown of pink silk flowers. Flowers just like this one. When it had fallen on him, he'd felt her gaze with all the force of a blow. He remembered what he'd seen in those silvery blue eyes like rain-swept autumn lakes: hope. Hope that it truly _was_ him, that he had come back into her life after more than four moons away. She had yearned for him as he had yearned for her, though he hadn't been able to admit it to himself at the time.

_There is no welcome for me in Bethmoora._Nuada's own words mingled with Dylan's promise. _You are always welcome here, Nuada. Always._And her eyes. The welcome had been there for him to see, as visible as a campfire in the dark. He could read her so easily with just one look into silver-washed eyes of impossible blue.

"And if this answer does not please your king?" Nuala asked softly, shattering his thought.

Clenching his fists, daring to risk a gamble, he replied just as softly, "If Father doesn't like it, he can tell me so himself when I return. Hear me, Nuala. I will not yield. I will return in my own time, with my betrothed at my side." And exerting all the magic he possessed, Nuada forcibly wrenched himself from the dream his sister had woven around him before she could question him further. He snapped awake on Dylan's bed to a soft thump and a muffled exclamation of pain from the bedroom doorway. One molten bronze eye sliced to the half-open doorway. Dylan stood there in her pajamas—black sleep-pants and a burgundy tank top with the words _Santa Baby_ in gold across the bust—looking sleep-tousled and confused and mildly irritated with herself.

"Oh, sorry," she mumbled, brushing idly at her hair, which hung in fetching tangles around her face. "Didn't mean to wake you. Bat was cuddling with me and came racing in here. I remembered what happened last time he slept with you," she added with a yawn. Leaning heavily against the doorframe seemed to be her only means of remaining semi-upright. "Didn't think you wanted that so I tried to stop him…but it didn't work. Then I whacked my foot. Sorry."

"Not at all," Nuada murmured. His eyes—still somewhat wearied by sleep—traced the delicacy of collarbone and slender shoulder in the light from the hallway, captivated by the way the fairy-lights and the glow of the bedroom fireplace illuminated Dylan's skin. "I…would you come in here, actually? I think we ought to finish our conversation."

Stifling a yawn behind her hand, she trudged over. "Do we have to?" She asked, sinking down onto the bed. "M'sleepy."

She looked it, he thought. Every time she blinked it seemed to take a Herculean effort to open her eyes again. She rubbed one eye with a loose fist and Nuada felt something warm and soft melting around his heart. Then to his complete surprise she curled up like a sleepy kitten near the foot of the bed, pillowing her head in her arms and tucking her good knee up to her chest. Her bad leg stuck out over the edge of the bed. Her eyes drifted closed.

"Dylan?"

"Sleepy-sleepy," she mumbled, yawning into the crook of her elbow. Silky strands of dark hair fell across her face. Hunkering down to make herself more comfortable (and inexplicably using Nuada's shin as a psuedo-pillow), she added, "Talk about Blackwood brothers later. Sleep now, 'kay? Good night."

A smile tugged at the corner of the Elf's mouth as he watched her begin to drift off. She had to be exhausted if she was doing this. He knew from their discussions that the Law of Chastity proscribed sleeping in the same bed as someone of the opposite sex. "Dylan, you can't stay here," Nuada said gently. She shifted and made an ambivalent "mmm" in response. Trying to talk to her about anything would be futile at this point. "Darling, you have to go back to the sofa."

Or he couldn't be responsible for his actions. He knew what would happen if he allowed her to sleep beside him tonight. Half-asleep at some point, he would reach out for her, bring his lips to her skin in an instinctive desire for the contact, pull her to him out of a blind need to hold her close…and she would respond as ardently as she had outside earlier that night. And if she did that, they would end up making love, drowning in the need to join together, drowning in each other. Nuada knew that once he had her, once he immersed himself in the softness of her skin and the taste of her, the two of them would be unable to do anything else but love each other through the night—his Elven stamina always served him in good stead in the bedroom—but when it was over at last, she would regret it. Her faith would make it so. He didn't want that.

Without opening her eyes, Dylan replied, "Hmmm-mmm."

By employing much finagling, gyrating, wriggling, and juggling, Nuada managed to get out of bed without knocking his lady to the floor and scoop her up in his arms…where she promptly cuddled against him, sliding her arms around his neck and pressing her face into the triangle of flesh revealed by the collar of his tunic. Her breath was warm against his skin. The caress of it made the hair at his nape and on his arms prickle. Little darts of heat sparked under his skin. Forcibly ignoring them, Nuada carried his truelove back to the den and the sofa she'd been using the last couple days as a place to sleep. "Say goodnight, beloved."

"Don't wanna," Dylan mumbled, burrowing closer to the prince as he bore her down the hall. "Stay. No school." Nuada raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Somehow he managed to refrain from swallowing his tongue when Dylan began nuzzling his clavicle. Her lips were soft were they traced over the ridge of collarbone and the concavity at the base of his throat. "Mmm, Nuada…love you…"

Disentangling her from him was almost as difficult as picking her up in the first place. Perhaps his difficulty stemmed from the fact that, deep down, he didn't want her to let go. She clung to him with the same single-minded devotion she always displayed when asleep. He could feel every pliant, lush curve of her body pressed against him. If he'd been a dishonorable man, he could have taken incredible advantage of her. As it was, he settled for taking only the very slightest advantage.

After he'd covered her with her blankets, the Elven prince leaned down and touched his lips carefully to Dylan's. They were so incredibly soft, he could scarcely restrain himself from coaxing them apart and drinking from her in a heady meeting of mouths and tongues they'd experienced out in the snow. Ah, Fates, he could still taste her. Her response to him had been…well, a surprise. He'd known Dylan was a woman of intense emotion but the way she'd kissed him…it had nearly driven him to his knees, just as this chaste little kiss threatened to do. She was so beautiful, so warm and yielding and sweet. Her arms tightened around his neck and she made a soft sound that heated his blood.

But things were going too far. He needed to let her sleep. Needed to make sure this didn't devolve into a passionate interlude she would hate him for in the morning…well, the afternoon, anyway. He owed her better than that. She _deserved_ better than that.

"Good night, my love," he whispered against her lips and, getting to his feet, left the room as she fell fully asleep.

It was only when he'd returned to his own borrowed bed that he realized: Dylan had, inadvertently during her sleep-addled mumblings, given him Patrick and Xander's surname.

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_**Author's Note:**__ so for the first time in any variation of this story, Nuada knows the Blackwood brothers' surname. What do you guys think he's going to do now? Dun-dun-dun! And you may have recognized snippets of events and conversations from chapters of the main storyline. That's because certain events are going to occur in this variation, pretty much no matter what, and so I drew on the original versions and then rewrote the scenes with some new stuff or from new perspectives or whatnot (like in the last chapter). Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter and remember, reviews are love! Yay!_


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